Troubling Premonitions
by TheManiacOnWheels
Summary: Why was the feeling of impending danger constantly present in his mind? And what did it even mean?
1. Awakening

The twin moons hung impassively in the night sky, their soft white light suffusing the land. Stars winked all around them, glittering like faint jewels in the dark. A danger, the dragon thought, shivering against the breeze, and against the premonitory cold that bit into his scales with icy fingers. The dull red of the larger moon seemed almost threatening, and unnatural, to Spyro's mind, as in the swamps, he had never seen these particular moons glow such a colour. They had always been the same pallid cream complexion. And the smaller one had a green hue to it, he mused. Unusual. He must remember to ask Ignitus about it.

The little dragon tucked his feet beneath him, wings pulled in tight against his sides. The inside-cold was getting stronger, as it had been for several weeks now. Since he and his former enemy Cynder had been hurled out of the imploding suspended realm, Convexity. He wondered if that had somehow triggered it. Perhaps he was not meant to have saved the other dragonet's life. If the 'Ancestors' that Ignitus was always intoning were displeased with his decision. Assuming, he thought wryly, that they existed at all. He knew he ought to listen and take in the fire Guardian's patient teachings, but after the startling revelation of Cynder's origins, Spyro didn't know if he could ever immediately believe everything he was told or saw. The world had taken on a distorted, abstract look, with nothing being what it seems.

A disturbance interrupted the dragonling's thoughts, and he cocked his head sharply, trying to interpret the source. Something was not quite right, he could feel it. As his eyes were drawn upwards again to the moons, the feeling intensified, and he knew that it was not the dreams or his brother that had awoken him before. He abruptly felt a great twinge of fear, a burning sensation at the back of his throat that made his veins tingle with liquid fire. And the feeling passed, as quickly as it had come.

Confused, and excited at the same time, he breathed in, to see if he could emulate the fiery feeling, and exhaled. All that came out was a wispy trickle of smoke. Well, he thought, settling back down in disappointment, a bit of smoke is better than nothing at all. For the past few weeks, he had accomplished nothing but such smoke, save for one occasion, but he had since then been unable to produce even the tiniest hint of flame. It was no consolation that Cynder could not breathe fire at all, as Ignitus had told them sternly that they were not to venture very far from the Temple. And not at all at night. Until his use of fire returned, he could not go anywhere.

And he didn't even _want _to try to fly again, discouraged as he was from his very first flight all those months ago.

A sigh came from deep within his chest, and he laid his head back down, tail curled comfortably around his body. Maybe it was worth trying to gain a couple of hours more of sleep to gain what he had lost over the past few nights.

"Spyro!"

…And he dispelled that hope. Wearily raising his head, trying as best he could to look as though Sparx had just woken him, Spyro looked at the gold dragonfly hovering with a secretive excitement before him.

Whistling appreciatively, Sparx said, "some night eh? Beautiful."

Not in the least fooled, Spyro said shortly, "what is it you want, Sparx?" He knew from their days in the swamps that his brother was withholding something. The tone of voice was unmistakable.

Sparx chuckled, "why do I have to want something?" he asked lightly, a small grin spreading on his face, "I'm just ready to begin the best day of my life now that the evil psycho she dragon is gone." His eyes twinkled maliciously, making Spyro think that he was quite enjoying knowing something that his purple adopted brother did not.

"What?" the dragonling demanded, "Cynder? What do you mean Sparx?" his tail flicked back and forth agitatedly, and he leapt to his feet.

Feigning alarm, Sparx said, "Calm down big fella. You're a little tense…haven't been sleeping much?" he threw the question slyly at the dragon.

_Now how_, Spyro wondered, caught off-guard, _did he know that? _Was his uncertainty that obvious?

"How…how did you know?" Spyro asked in a bland, emotionless voice.

Now it was Sparx's turn to revel in their brotherly knowledge of each other's habits. "Oh, don't worry, I just thought because you thrash around so much at night…" he idly examined a hand, not much troubling to hide his enjoyment.

"Thrash around? I don't do I?"

"Oh yeah, like a fish out of water," Sparx said, effecting indifference. He shrugged at Spyro's accusing look, "What? Did you expect me to tell you? How do I put this, 'Spyro, you look like a dying fish at night, what's up?' As if!"

Spyro shook his head, trying to draw attention away from himself and back to his original question, "Sparx, back to Cynder. What happened?"

As though he could not be bothered procrastinating any longer, Sparx said, "Okay, fine. I'll tell you." He cleared his throat unnecessarily, "I got up to get some fresh air. Since I don't sleep much myself these days with the, ah, 'female of fright' hanging about…" he paused, "low and behold, there she was, sneaking out into the garden."

He shuddered, rubbing his hands together for warmth, though that was not the reason. "She gives me the creeps' dude. Hear my teeth? Do you hear what she does to em'?"

Spyro wondered vaguely when Sparx would get over this ridiculous phobia of Cynder. It was not as if she had ever attacked _him_, even in her corrupted state. Then his mind acknowledged what Sparx had said. Cynder was gone.

Abruptly, he said, "Come on, we have to find her. It's dangerous for her to be outside the Temple at night." Or so Ignitus had said, he thought bitterly.

He began to stride purposefully from the weathered balcony, then Sparx darted in front of him, clearly not expecting this reaction. "It's dangerous for _any _of us to be outside at night," he said unenthusiastically as though he knew it would not hamper his brother.

"No time to argue, come on," Spyro snapped, then broke into a run.

He heard Sparx swear in one of the mildest dragonfly curses they had heard around the swamps, before following with a half formed excuse of 'you'd be helpless without me.'

As the great doors closed behind them, Spyro felt the fearful premonition prick his mind once more.


	2. Harsh realities

Spyro realized too late that encouraging Sparx to come was not the best of ideas. He would only make matters harder.

"Cynder, what're you doing out here? It's dangerous."

He caught up to the dragonling, making a mental note never to find himself looking for a dragon with black hide when it was high night. She glanced back at him, and Spyro found himself once more overwhelmed by the profound sorrow in the startling green eyes.

"You shouldn't have followed me Spyro," she said softly, stepping forward.

Sparx, reluctant from the start, said in an all too transparent voice, "that's good enough for me. Let's go. See you round."

"Please, don't make this harder for me than it already is," she pleaded, also, to the experienced eye, implying that she wanted him to leave.

"I don't understand," Spyro said, furling and unfurling his wings with conflicting discontentment. He had an odd feeling that she too, felt the sensation of an impending apocalypse. Not that he could _really _name it as an apocalypse. Perhaps she could…But why was she out here?

Cynder dipped her head sadly, "I'm leaving, Spyro," she said, "I don't belong here. After all I've done, all I've put you through...I can't stay."

For several moments, all he could do was stare in shock at the fidgeting, guilt-ridden dragonling, before he recovered his wits. "Cynder, nobody blames you for what happened," he assured her, now concentrating on preventing her from feeling she needed to leave.

"Wha? I do, speak for yourself," Sparx interrupted loudly, glaring at the aforementioned dragon with barely concealed hate and…fear?

"Sparx!" Spyro snapped angrily at his brother, small infant fangs closing together inches from the dragonfly's head.

"No, Sparx is right."

The bickering pair both stared at her in amazement.

Cynder shifted uncomfortably, before continuing, "And every day that goes by, I'm reminded of it." She switched her piercingly solemn gaze to Spyro, and he saw in that moment that she did feel the danger, and understood what it meant, even if he himself did not. By leaving, she was placing herself out of reach by the forces that would turn her against him. To protect them. Not just because she felt her life was not worth saving.

But he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to lose the only other living dragon his age so soon. Seeing him about to protest, Cynder said quietly, "Spyro, your place is here. Your destiny is here…But, mine is somewhere out there for me to find."

All the vehement words Spyro had been about to say died on his tongue, and he only said, almost in a whisper, "Cynder…I…I don't want you to go."

"Goodbye, Spyro."

And with that, she turned and ran, without a backward glance, into the night.

Knowing, though he was not quite twelve years that her mind was made, and that chasing her into the night would accomplish nothing but more problems, Spyro numbly sat back on his haunches. He could not believe what had just happened. And how was he going to explain this to Ignitus?

Sparx was the only one who seemed cheerful, and beneficial of this turn of events, considering his unreasonable and unfair antagonism of Cynder. Spyro almost growled, but his head felt light, and he was finding it difficult to focus.

"Now," Sparx said, "can we finally get some sleep? I've been only sort of half sleeping with one eye open for _weeks _now. It lessens the strain, but I tell you, it takes a toll." He tapped the side off his head, blinking rapidly, "hey, was this twitch always there?" he asked of his brother, "Spyro?"

But Spyro wasn't listening. Or rather, he wasn't taking in anything that was being said. All he heard was a voice in his mind saying, _'sleep, young one. The Darkness is coming_.'

The last thing he heard before he passed out was Sparx calling his name.


	3. Fiery

_He thought at first it was Convexity. The chunks of rock that floated lazily in midair were certainly there, and the architectural ruins. But no, it couldn't be. Convexity was destroyed. And the portal was absent. In its place, there was a podium, and a small depression of what looked like water, only the surface was glowing. Like Ignitus's Pool of Visions, he decided. _

_Getting up from where he lay sprawled, he crawled to the edge, trying to get a better look at his surroundings. "Hello?" he called, not really expecting an answer "Is anyone here?"_

'Do not be frightened, young dragon. You are not alone.'

_He almost squawked in surprise. Backing away, he asked tentatively, "Who…who are you? What is this place?" _

'I have summoned you here so that you might be warned; the night of the eternal darkness approaches, and time is running out.' _The voice replied, echoing dimly. _

_Spyro felt the prescient coldness return, and a clear, sharp scream ravaged through his mind, light flashing before his mind's eye, Cynder transforming from a cruel, murderous beast to a small hatchling just like him, a face of stone glaring coldly at the desolate mountainous landscape, the moons coming together…_

_He tried to cry out, wanting to escape. With a desperate wrench, he tugged himself from the apocalyptic pool, "Make it stop!"_

_It felt like water. Like a wave had washed over him and everything around him. Sound was nonexistent, movement difficult. And cold. Mind-numbingly cold, as though the wave of nothingness had been ice._

_Pulling himself together, Spyro launched himself forward from the plateau, pushing with all his strength through the air, for it seemed almost solid. As he touched down on the lower, larger ruins of some sort of ancient building, the pressure disappeared as though it had never been. He gasped as his legs gave way, and he fell forward before the pool of glowing water._

"_How did that happen?" he demanded of no one in particular, and the voice answered with a hint of bemusement, _'the purple dragon can wield many abilities that others cannot…including time itself.' _Before Spyro could reply, the voice continued, _'learn to master it, and you will able see things almost before they happen…but, use this gift sparingly, only when circumstances demand. Manipulation of time is not to be done without the _utmost _care.'

_Mechanically, he nodded, instinct urging him to step up to the pool. The surface of the water gave off an essence of energy, draconic energy, which Spyro was familiar with yet stranger to._

_In a tone that was more thoughtful than critical, the voice said, almost as though it was originating from the pool, _'Curious. It is your destiny to harness the powers of the elements,' _Oh, Spyro had heard that said one too many times, _'yet, you possess naught.'

"_I haven't been able to use them for some time now," Spyro said, a little defensively._

_The voice chuckled, _'yes. Right now your power lies dormant within you…Let us see if we might not awaken them…'

_The little dragon blinked. This voice, which he did not know, and had even less reason to trust, was going to help him breathe fire again? How?_

_He unfurled his wings, ruefully reminding himself that if he succeeded, he would most likely have to fly again. But he wasn't _good _at flying, he had never been taught. Sure, Ignitus had tried to teach him the basic evasion techniques, and a few pointers on how to increase speed without straining his wings, but that didn't mean he _could_._

_The voice interrupted his irritated thoughts, emanating impatience. _'Relax, Spyro, and feel the fire that flows through your veins. Allow its heat to consume you, and _breathe _with it.'

_Easier said than done, Spyro thought bitterly. He had been trying that for days. Ignitus had even given up._

_Regardless, he obeyed the strange entity's instructions. Within him, the molten fire which had been so recumbent lately began to stir. Excited, he felt a burning at the back of his throat, the same as before, only this time…it felt as though it was going to work. _

_Slowly, he sucked in his breath, as though he didn't want to waste any potential air for fire, then, arching his neck, he blew out. Like a dog to its master, the fire raced out, a great orange tongue of flame, to dissipate against the ruins. _

_In his exhilaration, he let out a cry of pure triumph, several small gouts of fire following it. Finally, after weeks of tenacious attempts, he could use fire again. He felt the entity's approval_, 'good,' _he said,_ 'now, rise up, and unleash the firestorm within you.'

_And Spyro did. Blood bubbling with adrenaline, fire gathered from every part of his body, from his head, to his wings, to the blade of his tail. Hovering midair, a column of heat gathered round him, every scrap of air burning. Immune to such trifle minorities, Spyro reveled in the wall of heat. He was part of the fire and the fire was part of him. Flaring his wings, a surge of power ran through his entire body, and the column exploded outwards, the rush igniting it as it went. _

_He dropped to the ground, panting, but grinning from the success. The voice sounded pleased, _'well done, Spyro. You're a natural. But…now that a primal fire rages inside you, show me you have command of it.'

And that didn't? _Spyro almost said, but controlled himself at the last minute. He decided that he would do as the voice bid, and just be grateful that he could breathe fire again. _

_So he raced through the course, which tested every bit of his knowledge of fire, and his skill of how to manipulate it, until he flung himself, panting, back to the centre of the remnants of the building. _

'_Is that it?' he asked, tempered by an unexpected respect for this mysterious voice. He flipped his wings back against his sides, talons clicking unnaturally loudly on the rock face._

'Yes,' _the voice replied, _'you have done well…but now, it is time for you to return. However, be careful, Spyro. The enemy approaches.'

'_Wait,' Spyro called out, 'you still haven't told me who you are!'_

'You may know me as the Chronicler. Seek me out…'

_An image reached Spyro's mind of a great tree, surrounded by a bog, before he lost consciousness._

* * *

"Hello? Sleeping purple?"

Spyro grunted, stretching his stiff limbs tiredly, then raised his head, wide eyes drinking in his surroundings with surprise, then recognition as he found Sparx.

"Sparx?"

"Aaaaand he's awake! Tell everyone!"

Slowly, as though he was struggling to understand his own words, Spyro said, "Something is happening Sparx…and I can't explain it."

"No kidding. Well, while you were catatonic this whole place has been filled with hootin' an' howlin'. Listen." He gestured with one hand to be silent.

Faintly, Spyro could hear something, rather like…

"What is that?"

An explosion rattled his bones so thoroughly that he was temporarily numbed from shock, and before he had time to recover himself, a second explosion, the dropped bomb clearly visible, created a shockwave strong enough to hurl him and Sparx against the stony wall, the thick entanglement of vines only slightly softening the pain.

In the interval that followed, Spyro cried with fear, "the Temple is under attack!" He glanced at the little archway through which he had come. The bomb had caused several of the crumbling pillars to fall and block it. They couldn't return that way.

He glanced worriedly at Sparx, who was still a little dazed from the impact. "The others are still sleeping, we need to get back!" His tone was fearful.

Sparx, giving his head a little shake, demanded, outraged, "Are you crazy? You want to go _towards_ the danger?"

Ignoring him, Spyro said, more to himself then anything else, "we need to find another way in, before they do. Come on."

With out further delay, he ran off into the night the same way Cynder had gone.

Sparx brought his palm to his face, muttering under his breath, "I liked you better when you were sleeping." But he followed him, nonetheless.

They were mad. Indisputably mad. Their eyes were constantly unfocussed, even as they lurched, howling maniacally at the little dragon, trying to rip his scaly sides with their claws and bared fangs. And he didn't even know Apes _had _fangs.

As he stood his ground against the on-coming foes, Spyro wondered if they ever thought about why they were trying to rip him to shreds, or if it came instinctively. See dragon. Must kill. Or maybe it was just because they were crazed beasts with pikes and other weapons which probably shouldn't be given to them and needed to smash something open. Like, for instance, a dragon's skull.

He swept his tail blade around swiftly to knock back one, before arching his neck and releasing a blast of fire to dispatch of it and serve as a warning to any others. Not that they ever took the hint. As if to prove his point, several came at him at once, cackling and hooting with bloodlust. Seconds later, anther group came from behind, and only Sparx's last minute warning-"Spyro, crazed monkeys at twelve-O'clock!"- saved him from having his neck broken under the would-be ambush party…by leaping ungracefully into the air, and landing awkwardly, fouling his left wing in the process, a little bit away from them.

The Apes that had attacked from behind seemed puzzled that their purple quarry was not crushed underneath them, blinking stupidly for a moment before howling in pain, their fur afire, from his less-than-inconspicuous gout of flame. He enjoyed being able to use it again.

"Now can we move on?" Sparx asked ungraciously, as Spyro stared at the smoking bodies, pleased with himself.

"Oh, fine."

He leapt forward and fluttered up to a stone ledge, eyeing the delicately carved statues that were flung haphazardly on their sides, and the unmistakable stench of Ape lingered around them.

"They've been this way," he said, indicating the door- yes, there was a door leading to a metre of stone ledge- "if we follow them, we might get back."

"We're still running towards and not _from _the danger," Sparx observed sourly, answered by Spyro's impatient roll of the eyes. The dragon paced around a fallen statue, noting its ugly gargoyle-like snarl, then bent and, using the tips of his horns as a lever, tipped it the right side up, flicking his head back casually.

He did the same thing to the others, pushing them out of the way. He met Sparx's odd look with an equally defiant one, "They've got no right to do that," he said defensively, "they're _our _statues."

Sparx gave a negligent shrug, "whatever you say O strange one."

Spyro growled at him, then turned and ran through the doors, old and hardly used by the cracked look of them. The corridors had fallen into disuse. A thick layer of dust had accumulated over the course of perhaps years, weeds wove into the cracks of the walls, and the ornamental artifacts peppering the Temple lay broken and forgotten. Spyro wondered what it had been like when this place was used, for it must have been amazing in its time.

Distantly, he heard the hoot of an Ape, and followed it, despite Sparx's muttered "we should be going the _other _way."

Spyro was awed by the sheer size of this place. It was labyrinthine; one corridor would lead to a fork, which would lead either to a dead end or more corridors, and more signs of abandonment, and he would get lost in the middle.

Silence pressed thickly on his ears, and the eerie lack of sound or life, except the unnaturally loud click of his talons against the stone, was frightening. He knew Sparx was afraid too, for he would occasionally make a deceptively calm remark, or dart up and pretend to examine a niche in the wall or an insect lumbering on its way, completely unaware of the little purple dragon and the glowing golden dragonfly tramping quietly through the forgotten halls.

Eventually, Spyro said in a would-be casual fashion, "I wonder how long these corridors have been abandoned for. It seems like ages!"

"This place is old alright," Sparx seemed just as relieved and eager to talk as Spyro was, "and it's huge. And we used to think the swamps were big!"

_Just as you used to think that I was big_, Spyro thought sardonically. He remembered that he had thought that he was some sort of mutated freak of nature. Well, better a small dragon than an oversized not-exactly-flight-savvy dragonfly!

To break the silence that had elapsed in their conversation, Spyro asked in a low voice, "Where do you think we go when we die?"

It was an unexpected question, and Sparx's expression showed it, but he recovered himself almost immediately with a non-committing shrug, "Don't know. Dad said once that we go to this place called the Sky Hollow or somethin' like that. If you're a good guy that is."

"What if you're not?"

"Maybe you're damned."

Spyro was thoughtful for a while, "I think we'd go to the Ancestors, you know, the spirits Ignitus is always talking about."

"I wouldn't," Sparx snorted, "I'm not a dragon."

Spyro's insides turned cold at the thought of life without Sparx, of dying alone. "I'm sure we'd be in the same place," he said confidently, but he was doubtful. So he put the matter out of his mind.

He cocked his head; the shrill screeches of the Apes were audible once more. "I can hear them better now, come on."

"Fantastic."

Spyro grinned at his sarcasm, knowing that he wanted to get out of these dreary halls no matter how it was done. He was just too proud to say it.

He went quicker now, lengthening his strides in order to catch up to the Apes. They weren't putting much effort into remaining inconspicuous, or perhaps they were aware he was following them, and were deliberately making a cacophonous racket. No…Apes were always that way. It couldn't be for any particular reason…Could it?

The dark corridor, after winding back and forth and making several false turns, finally widened out into a circular intersection, three doors standing tall and inviting, providing choices of which way to go. But Spyro's attention wasn't on the doors. It was on the Apes that stood guard there. They cackled and jeered at him, advancing on either side, the largest one standing stiffly in front of the middle door. That made Spyro think that he needed to go through there.

Tensing, he succumbed to the wistful burning in his throat, releasing a jet of flame into their midst. Some second sense must have warned them, but they pressed the attack in a close knot, a violent glee in their red eyes. He backed away, rearing back on his hind legs, spreading his dappled wings and leapt forward, clumsily taking flight. He was still average in flight combat, but the sparring sessions he had had with Cynder gave him a little experience; she was much more accomplished in aerial combat than he, and had given him some pointers. Strafing was a much safer way to attack grounded enemies from the air. Sucking in his breath, Spyro exhaled bursts of fire at one point in the group, before darting to another and repeating the attack. The nonplussed Apes screamed before they fell to his talons, now washed with blood, and he landed among the corpses, turning his flashing violet eyes to the last Ape, which, seeming considerably smarter than its companions, wearily stepped aside and let him pass, uttering a defeated growl. Wide-eyed at this show of honor and grace in defeat, Spyro slowly stepped past it and through the now open doors.

When they were out of earshot of the Ape, he said in awe, "I think they're not as stupid as we thought Sparx, or not as bad," whereupon Sparx made a rather rude sound, making Spyro grin. He had good reason, he supposed, to disbelieve that idea.

"Okay, fine," he said, "they have more _sense_ than we thought."

"Now you're gettin' closer."


End file.
